


Grim Reapings: A Shingami Dispatch Horror Story

by TopHatCat



Category: Kuroshitsuji : The Most Beautiful DEATH in the World - Iwasaki/Mori/Mari, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Blood, Body Horror, Death, Demon, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eye Trauma, Gore, Grim Reapers, Guts - Freeform, Horror, M/M, Monster - Freeform, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Serial Killers, Shinigami, Torture, Violence, alan is in a horror story, bascially alan's goes through a lot of terrible psychological stuff, grell is basically a, one character dies a lot, so much blood, the poor boy, there's a lot of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 14:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHatCat/pseuds/TopHatCat
Summary: Alan's ready to go home, but something wants him to stay at the Dispatch... and it's not friendly.  All the reaper can do is try to stay alive and hope he can survive long enough to find a way out of the nightmare he's trapped in, before it's too late.RATED E FOR GORE/HORROR(Inspired by video games like The Evil Within, Resident Evil, Amnesia, etc.)





	1. Chapter 1

_‘I just want to go home….’_

The thought was a common one for every reaper, and Alan Humphries was so close to it being a reality.  One more stamp and…done.  The last file for the day was finished and ready to be brought to Will’s desk in the morning.  Leaning back in his chair, Alan yawned, stretching his arms over his head.  His arm was sore from writing so much, but it was finally time to go home and relax, a welcoming prospect.

Checking his watch, the reaper saw it was nearly eleven fifteen pm.  Lifting his eyes from his desk, he was surprised to see all other lights in the room were off.  The rest of the cubicles were dim and empty, void of any life at all.  When had everyone gone home?  It was late, but Alan thought he would have noticed at least one other level three reaper leaving the room.

Shrugging, he decided he must have been so wrapped up in work, everything else had been blocked from his mind.  He did tend to focus very hard on whatever task he was doing.

He picked up any papers he wanted to take home, sliding them into his bag before putting on his coat on and slinging the satchel over his shoulder.  Switching off the lamp over his desk, he was immediately plunged into almost complete darkness, broke only by the moonlight coming through the windows.  A shiver ran down his spine, but Alan wasn’t easily scared so he set off determinedly for the door.  The room seemed larger in the dark, stretching and spreading into the shadows that lurked in the cubicles and corners.  Upon reaching the door, a faint sigh left Alan’s lips and he turned once to look back.

“That’s odd,” he said aloud, his mouth curving into a frown.  On the far side of the room a light was on, dimly glowing over the top of the cubicle.  He wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Hello?” he called, but there was no answer.  Shaking his head, he started back across the room; if someone had left their lamp on, it wouldn’t do any good to let it shine all night.  Rounding the side of the cubicle he saw the desk chair was indeed empty, but it was tipped into its side.  Reaching down, Alan took hold of the backrest and lifted it up, righting the chair and returning it to its rightful place.

When he pulled his hand away, he felt some resistance and looked curiously down at his fingers.  A choked gasp escaped his mouth as he stared down at the sticky red liquid smeared over his skin.  Flicking his eyes around the cubicle, he saw the chair wasn’t the only thing splattered with blood.  The lamp, the edge of the desk, the floor all had a smattering of blood across them, and Alan felt bile rise in his throat.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose up and he suddenly felt eyes on him. Whipping around, he searched the darkness but saw nothing.  The eerie feeling persisted, but he shook his head firmly.

“Someone had an accident,” he whispered.  “That’s why they left their lamp on.  A scissors, a scythe…. something cut them and they had to go to the infirmary.”

There had been no panic in the office that he had noticed, not all day, and his mind wrapped comfortingly around the decision that all of this must be the result of an unfortunate mistake that had led a reaper to go get patched up, maybe even get a stitch or two, by the amount of blood.

Thinking of the red liquid reminded Alan of the stuff on his hands and he looked down in disgust.  A trip to the bathroom would have to be made before leaving.  After turning off the lamp, he hurried for the door again.  The discovery had started tying a knot in his stomach and the sooner he was washed up the happier he would be.

 _‘I’ll have to ask around and find out who it was,’_ he thought.  _‘If they’re hurt badly enough, I wouldn’t mind taking some of their work.’_

Entering the hall, he found it empty.  The bathroom was only a few doors down and he quickly went in, going directly to the sink.  Turning the handle, nothing happened.  Frowning, he tapped the neck of the faucet but still no water came out until he turned the handle back and forth a few times.  Then the nozzle sputtered, groaned, and finally spit out the hot water.

Alan sighed in relief and began scrubbing away at his hands.  The blood turned the water running down the drain pink, an unnerving sight but better than having it on his skin.  The quiet descended around him, broken only by the rushing water.  In this moment, as he turned his hands over and over under the hot stream, the eerie feeling returned.  Prickles ran up and down his spine and he kept his eyes on his hands, as if turning around would only create some horror out of thin air.

After a moment he found he couldn’t resist any longer and spun around, eyes wildly scanning the row of stalls but finding nothing out of the ordinary.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Nothing there.”

Turning back to the sink, he quickly finished washing his hands and splashed his face, trying to settle his nerves.  Grabbing a paper towel, he used it to turn off the water, wiping away the blood on the handle, and lifted his head.

A shriek leapt out of him as his eyes met the gaze of the person in the mirror and he whipped around to face them, clutching at his chest as his heart threatened to burst out of his ribcage.

“Grell!  What are you doing in here?”

The red reaper raised an eyebrow.  “This _is_ one of the unisex bathrooms,” she said, and Alan shook his head.

“No, I mean… why are you suddenly behind me?”

“I was in one of the stalls, silly.”  Grell rolled her eyes as she washed her hands. “Honestly, what did you think; that I’d popped out of thin air?”

“No, I…” Alan glanced at the stalls. He had been sure they were all empty when he walked in. “Never mind…”

“Have a good rest of your night, love,” Grell said, waving a hand as she left the bathroom.  Alan stood for half a second and then darted after her, catching the door before it closed.

“Grell, wait! Do you know about a reaper who got hurt and-?”

He stopped, finding himself talking to an empty corridor.  Turning his head both ways, he found no sign of Grell, or anyone else, down the length of the entire hallway.  It was as if she’d just vanished into thin air...

Backing slowly into the bathroom again, Alan picked up his bag from the floor.  He was more than ready leave the Dispatch Building and go home by this point, and barely noticed the blood on the bathroom door handle before touching it. Drawing his hand back, he cringed.

_‘Did I get it dirty like that?’_

Cleaning it up with a towel, he threw the paper away and exited into the hall. _‘But I didn’t touch the inside handle…did I?’_

Perhaps he’d just forgotten.

His steps were fast now, strides longer as he went to the lift and hit the down button a good number of times more than he actually needed to.  The machine gears began turning and Alan looked upwards, seeing the numbers counting up as the lift climbed.  It stopped once, hesitating at one of the floors.  Number fifteen.  Alan felt a rush of relief.  Someone else was here, heading up toward him.  The emptiness of the level was beginning to get to him and he waited eagerly for the lift to arrive and the doors to slide back.

There was no one inside.

Alan stepped carefully in, peering around the interior, but it was obvious from one glance that he was alone.  After hitting the ground-floor button, he hugged his bag to his chest and stood in the middle of the lift.  Feeling the machine move slowly downward, he willed it to hurry up.

A few floors later the hairs on his arms lifted suddenly and at the same moment the lift began to speed up, trundling along only a bit faster at first, but then moving faster, hurtling downward toward the bottom of the buildings.

Alan’s scream was trapped in his chest by panic, and he fell to his knees, gripping the rail on the wall.  His bag shifted, spilling some of it’s contents out into the lift where they flew about, bouncing off the walls and hitting the ceiling.  Alan ducked his head, pressing a hand to his mouth as he waited to be crushed in a mess of metal and wood at the base of the Dispatch.

And then it stopped, coming to a screeching halt so suddenly Alan was lifted a foot off the ground only to come painfully back down as gravity returned to normal.  Groaning, he lifted his head pushing his hair out of his eyes.  Above the doors, a letter glowed: G.

“The ground floor,” he gasped, struggling to rise.  His limbs were so weak from fear he had to use the railing, and he ignored the spilled items from his bag.  All he wanted to do was get out of here. Fast.

The doors slid open, thank god, and Alan darted out into the main lobby.  It was vast and moonlit, and completely empty.  None of the lights were on and the main desk, always manned by a reaper at every hour of the day and night, was vacant.

_‘Where is everyone? Where are they?’_

The question tumbled over in his head as he walked as fast as he could toward the main doors.  It was as if, if he started to run, something would take that as a sign to come out of the dark.

He breaths were heavy and ragged as he approached the doors.  His fingers wrapped around the handle, straining to turn it and break free into the world beyond.  It wouldn’t budge, and he tried again, then moved to the next door, and the next, each silver handle mocking him as it clicked, then refused to move any farther.

Locked, all locked, and through the glass he could see the city.  There were lights on in the buildings, but none lit nearby, as if each room in the surrounding buildings was as bare as the lobby he was in now.  The glass wouldn’t break, he knew, not even with a reaper’s strength, but he hit it anyway, banging his fist imploringly on the clear barrier that separated him from freedom.  When his hands hurt and his shoulders ached, he stopped and stepped back, defeated.

“There are other ways,” he whispered. “Other ways out.  Windows… Side doors…  I just need to find one that’s open.”

He could try to find Grell; surely she hadn’t left already.  And yet he shied away from the idea.  He could chalk everything up to coincidence except the unending emptiness of the building, and all at once everything else seemed just as sinister. 

There was suddenly blood on his hands again, but he blinked and it was gone.  Curling his fingers into fists, he headed toward a hallway.  This one would lead to other rooms and, with luck, windows.  The bag over his shoulder provided something to hold onto and he clutched at the strap as he walked.  This way was lit now, as he moved farther down the corridor, and it was reassuring to be able to see everything.  He knew which rooms in this area touched outside walls and checked these, but the windows were a kind that couldn’t be opened so he moved on.

As he entered the next section of the level, that same eerie sensation began crawling its way up his back, and by now he knew to expect something.  Gazing down the hall, he saw the light at the far end flick off, then the next, and the next, until the lamps shutting off were closer and closer to where he stood.

The darkness growing at the end of the corridor deepened, and Alan could tell at once that whatever was in those shadows, he most certainly did not want it to reach him.  So he ran, sprinting as fast as he could to the end of the hall, skidding around the corner to see the lights down there flickering out too.  Spinning back around, the lamps only a few yards away blinked out and he pressed himself up against the wall as the patch of light around him grew smaller and smaller.

Then the thing he was leaning against moved and with a short scream he fell backwards into another lift.  Scooting back, the doors slid closed just as the last light went out, and a cold chill stabbed his skin like needles as the darkness lunged, shadows leaping forward, getting cut off as the doors snapped shut.  Inside, Alan hunched back against the side of the lift, not daring to stand as he recalled the last time he had been in one, but thankful for the light at the very least.  He didn’t move, waiting for something to happen, hoping nothing would, and the lift started to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos, please let me know! I wrote this very fast :3


	2. Chapter 2

The lift went upward, regular speed, no surprises, and although Alan hit the second-floor button, it kept moving, slowing down only once. Floor fifteen, it hesitated, the doors opened briefly, revealing nothing but a dark hallway.  However, before Alan could make a move, they were closing again, and he was being taken upwards once more.

He wondered what all of this was. Was he dreaming? Had he never left his desk and was snoring away, making all of this up in his head?  He pinched his arm and when that did nothing, slapped himself several times in the face.  All he got was a sore cheek and teary eyes that were more from fear than the pain.

“Eric,” he whispered, as if the reaper could hear him somehow.  “Eric, save me please. I don’t know what to do.  Please come find me…”

The lift couldn’t go forever and it came to a halt at the very top floor.  This was for level four reapers’ offices, like Eric’s, and an illogical dream that the room’s owner would be sitting in his chair, doing paperwork and drinking a whiskey, came into Alan’s head.  Scrambling to his feet, Alan waited apprehensively as the doors opened.  The hall looked as regular as ever.  This floor was never busy, and the emptiness didn’t make him feel uncomfortable.  Normally.

Now the quiet set Alan’s palms to sweating as he passed the closed doors lining the way.  Upon reaching Eric’s, he hesitated only a moment before turning the knob and entering.  His heart sank at the sight of the dim room.  Everything was exactly as expected, messy, cluttered, welcoming; but Eric wasn’t there and that’s what Alan dared wish for.

He sighed, standing in the doorway, backlit by the hall light.  Just the feel of standing in this office gave him comfort and he basked in it, trying to steady his nerves.  He had just gotten his heartbeat to a steadier rhythm when his shadow, stretching across the office floor, was joined by a second, taller one.

Alan jumped, gasping and looking over his shoulder.  His eyes met green irises.  They were behind rectangular framed glasses set over a familiar angular face.

“Will,” he succeeded in getting out, and thought he might faint with relief.  “Will, thank god.  There’s something terribly strange happening.”

William T. Spears frowned. “Strange?  That won’t do.  What is it?”

“I’m not sure the cause,” Alan said, “But everyone seems to have vanished!”  He gripped his bag strap as if it helped him to get the words out. “And there is some dark thing…  Everything is wrong.”

Will’s eyes narrowed.  “Wrong…?”  His hand found Alan’s shoulder, holding it tightly. “Alan, you look like you’re about to collapse.” He motioned toward his office. “Come sit down and tell me about this.”

Alan shook his head as Will steered him down the corridor. “Oh, I think we’d better get out of here right away.  The lifts are haunted, and the lights are going out, and where the shadows grow, there’s something waiting!”

“If it’s all that dangerous, we need to think about it before running blindly back downstairs.”  Will opened his office door and escorted Alan inside, taking his bag and coat before Alan could protest.  “I assume you don’t want to die tonight?”

“You believe me,” Alan said, sinking into a chair.  “You really do? You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“Do you?”  Will picked up a cup of tea that was on his desk and handed it to the smaller reaper.  It was warm and Alan wrapped his hands around it, taking a grateful sip.

“I’m not sure…  There’s no one around and I couldn’t get out the front doors.”  He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow.  “And there’s this prickling…like a thousand spiders dancing across my skin.  In fact, I feel it right…now…”

His eyelids flew open but it was too late.  The teacup fell to the floor, shattering and spilling its contents as Will slammed his arms down to the chair, binding them with inhuman speed.  Alan let out a cry of terror, jerking against the leather straps to no avail.  Will drew back, rubbing his chin as he gazed down at Alan with cold eyes.

“Will,” the reaper gasped, looking up at his friend in horror. “Will, this isn’t you!  This isn’t right!”

“Must be broken,” the management reaper mused, his tone cold as ever but now laced with something else, a deadness that Alan had never heard in Will’s voice before.

“I’m not broken,” Alan said, trying to keep his voice calm.  If he could snap Will out of this… “I’m me, Alan.  There’s an evil in this place and it’s affecting you.”

“A good worker does not question the system,” Will responded, and moved to his desk, opening one of the drawers.   Alan strained to see what he was doing, still speaking, attempting to talk sense.  Will simply ignored him, taking out a tool pouch and unrolling it on the desk’s surface.  Alan’s words died on his lips at the display of sharp metal objects Will was now carefully running his fingers over.

“Will,” he squeaked, his voice a tiny sound as he shrank back into the chair.  “Will, please stop.”

The management reaper only shook his head in disappointment. “There is nothing more bothersome than a broken machine,” he sighed, selecting two of the tools, slender needles, and rounding the desk to stand in front of Alan.  “It is an inconvenient job to get them back into working condition.”

Alan tried to struggle, but it was useless.  His eyes went to the teacup on the carpet and he felt like a fool, but how was he to have known Will would turn against him?  The management reaper was rolling up his sleeves now, and holding Alan’s hands still and flat, palms down.

“No!” Alan cried as the needle stabbed into the back of his hand, sliding right through to the arm of the chair.  His breaths came out in choked sobs as he stared at the small amount of blood welling up around the entrance point.

“And the other,” Will said, and Alan cried out as the second piece of metal drove in his other hand.  He was like a captured butterfly, a delicate creature helpless and pinned down to await nothing but pain and death.

“Goodness, don’t struggle or you’ll ruin the body.”  Will returned to the desk and through his tears, Alan could see him pick up a third tool.  “If I have to perform an entire reconfiguration, you’re better off just being disposed of, since right now I have absolutely no time on my hands. Less than fifteen minutes, as it is.”

Alan clamped his mouth shut, trying not to imagine what being disposed of entailed.  The pain wasn’t the worst part; the fact that it was Will, Will! made his whole body tremble and tears cascade down his cheeks.  The management reaper pressed his fingers to Alan’s chin, titling his head back.  His usually lime-green eyes were almost black, set deep into the sharp pale face, and Alan looked for kindness but found none.

“Just stay quiet and calm and you’ll be back to work in no time.”  His fingers dug into Alan’s skin, forcing his jaw apart so his mouth opened wide.  “Let’s see what the matter is.”

Alan tried to scream as Will inserted the small knife past his lips and teeth, but nothing would come out of the wild tangle of panic in his chest.  The cold metal touched the back of his throat, making him gag, and his eyes rolled back as he tried to think past the discomfort to the actual danger.  Iron filled his mouth, even the smallest incision setting his taste buds into a frenzy as the droplets of blood fell onto them.  This time, the scream broke free, filling the room with it’s sharp sound.

“Hold still and let me make you work properly again,” Will said, his voice so smooth he might have been in a completely different scenario.  A calm one, a normal one.  Alan could feel death reaching its long fingers toward him, anticipating what Will would do next, and the knife may have done greater damage had the office door not suddenly flew open with a bang.

Will jerked back, and the knife sliced into Alan’s cheek, but it was nothing deadly, and besides, the small reaper was more concerned with the newest occupant of the room to care.

“Eric!” he cried, ignoring the blood that dripped from his mouth.  The elation he felt was far too overpowering, and then it hit him that perhaps this wasn’t Eric after all, but some dark entity that only assumed his form.

But the emotion on Eric’s face was strong, and the punch he threw at Will was in defense of Alan.  The management reaper blocked the attack, the knife in his hand stabbing Eric’s arm.  The tall reaper growled in pain and retreated a step or two, picking up a chair in the corner.  Hurling this at Will, who ducked, he dove, knocking the other reaper’s feet out from under him and sending him sprawling to the doorway.

Eric leapt to his feet, fists up and ready, but Will only rose, glared with dark eyes at both of them and vanished into the hall.  When he was gone, Eric spun around to face Alan.

“Oh, Al,” he said, distress lacing his tone.  Alan could only imagine what he looked like, bloody and tear stained, strapped to a chair with needles in his hands.

“You came,” he wept, “You really came.”

Eric dropped to his knees, hands hovering over the metal pins. “Of course, of course,” he said softly. “Now let me take care of you.”

Alan slumped back, gritting his teeth as Eric carefully pulled the needles out of his hands, casting them away to the floor.  Blood oozed out of the tiny holes, but not a lot, and Alan found he could still move his fingers with only a slight pinch of pain.

“But why are you here?” he asked as Eric undid the straps.  “Do you know what’s going on?”

“I went down to the next level to drop some papers off and when I got there, it was completely empty.” Eric shook his head. “I was only gone quarter of an hour…less.  I came back up eventually but no one was in their offices.”  He lifted Alan’s arms from where they rested, holding tightly to his wrists.  “Then I heard you scream.”

“There’s something evil here,” Alan whispered, leaning closer to the tall reaper as if just his presence could scare away anything that came too close.  “The front doors are locked.”

“Then we get to the roof.”  Eric stood, pulling Alan up with him.  “Are you alright to walk?”

Alan touched his mouth, wincing. “It’s just a few cuts.  I’m well enough to get out of here.”

Eric nodded, not releasing Alan’s wrist as he started for the door. “Come on then.”

They hurried down the hall, Alan coming after Eric, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.  The prickly feeling was there, but very faint, and he thought it must just be seeping to him from everywhere in the building.  He looked back, then forward again, and realized Eric was stopping in front of the lift.

“Oh no,” he said, pulling on Eric’s arm, “We can’t, they’re not safe.”  He pointed to a nearby door.  “The stairs, we should take the stairs.”

Eric looked at him, then the doorway.  “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I went that way before.  There’s this…darkness.  It hunts you, and there’s something in that you should never let reach you.”

“And all the lamps go out one by one,” Alan murmured.  He felt Eric squeeze his arm.

“Yes, exactly.”

Taking a deep breath, Alan nodded. “At least the lift has been lit this whole time…”

When the doors opened, they found this still to be true.  Stepping in, the doors slid shut and Alan pressed the button that would take them to the roof.  Not to his surprise, they didn’t move an inch.  Eric frowned and pushed the button again.

“Well, come on then!”

“It doesn’t want us too,” Alan whispered, gripping Eric’s sleeve.  “It doesn’t want us to escape.”

“Dammit, if we have to take the stairs, we take the stairs.” Eric hit the door button, but that too was unresponsive.  “God dammit!”

Alan moved back, hands holding the rail as Eric tried to force the doors open, attempting without success to get his fingers in the crack between them.  The feeling was growing, getting stronger up and down his spine and he reached out.

“Eric, be careful!”

The tall reaper looked back, pulling his hands away just as the lift dropped.  Alan shouted as both he and Eric were throw to the ceiling of the lift by the force.

“We’re going to hit the bottom!” Eric yelled as they were tossed back to the floor.  The lift was still falling fast.

“It stopped before!” Alan cried, but that knowledge didn’t lessen the fear.

“I’m not betting your life on what a cursed lift did before!” Eric reached up, fumbling with something Alan couldn’t see, and then a hatch flipped open in the ceiling.  “You have to get out and grab hold of something to get you off this thing!”

“I’m not leaving you!” Alan said, and Eric grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer so their eyes met.

“I’m too large to fit!  Step on my hands!”

Alan did as told, and Eric lifted him so his fingers could curl around the edge of the opening, getting a grip to pull himself to the top of the lift.  The cable whipped by and he dreaded to think what would happen if he touched it.  He was on his knees, too unsteady to rise any farther, and his eyes searched for something to cling to.  There, on the side of the shaft, a ladder ran all the way up and down the side.

“It’s going too fast, I can’t!” Alan yelled, looking to where Eric’s face was framed by the lift hatch.

“You can,” Eric said, “I believe in you.”

“I can’t leave you,” he corrected himself, and Eric smiled sadly.

“Yes, you can.”

“No,” Alan shook his head, tears spilling over, but he reached out toward the ladder, measuring his movements.  “No…”

“I love you, Al,” Eric said, and Alan glanced down once more.  “Don’t forget that.  I’ll always come for you.”

A whimper escaped Alan and then he grabbed hold of the ladder.

He felt like his body was being jerked upward, but it was the lift that moved, dropping away from beneath his feet.  His chest, hips, and legs slammed into the ladder, eliciting a grunt, and he found a foothold on a lower rung.  His head whipped around, watching the lift grow farther and farther away into the darkness.  After a moment he couldn’t see it anymore, and then the cable stopped going, and a deadly crunch echoed up the shaft to Alan’s ears.

The sound faded quickly, leaving the chute cold and silent.  Alan clung to the ladder, forehead resting on a metal bar, tears falling from his eye and dripping off his chin to plummet downward into the darkness below.  He remained there for a long time, shaking with sobs and whispering Eric’s name over and over until it didn’t even sound like a word anymore, just a blur of noise that he tried to channel his grief through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos, please let me know! I wrote this very fast :3


	3. Chapter 3

When Alan finally returned to the moment, it was only because of the soreness in his fingers from gripping the ladder so tightly.  The pain in his mouth had become a throbbing ache, though it no longer bled.

“Keep moving,” he told himself, peeling one hand away from the rung to grab the next bar above it.  “Survive.  Don’t let Eric down.”

He muttered these words and more as he pulled himself upwards, ascending the shaft at a morbidly slow pace.  There were dim lights at each level that lit his way.  He had planned on climbing all the way to the roof, but it soon became clear his muscles would give out long before then.  Limbs shaking with fatigue, Alan reached the next floor and stepped onto the small ledge beside the outside set of lift doors.  His fingers dug into the crack and, unlike the ones Eric had so desperately tried to open, these slid back with a soft whoosh, allowing him to stagger onto the floor beyond.

There were no lamps on here, and Alan almost wanted to risk the shaft again, if only to have some sort of light.  Instead, he sucked in a deep breath, trying to push away the heavy weight of anguish on his shoulders, and walked cautiously down the hall.

The tickle, running down his arms and neck, began very faintly, nothing near as strong as the other times.  He almost didn’t notice it at first; the memory off how the lift had crashed so violently was still consuming his brain.  When he did realize the warning was coming over him again, his senses strained as hard as he could and he tried to figure out what the next danger would be, and where it would come from.  He didn’t know if he could take another scare so soon after…

There wasn’t time to finish that dismal thought as the reaper’s shoes landed on something slick and he nearly fell to the ground.  Waving his arms to regain his balance, he stepped back and peered down, trying to see the floor.  When his eyes adjusted to what he was looking at, the knot in his stomach twisted, threatening to make him sick.

The soft thing was purplish pink, glistening with clear ooze and blood that smeared across the ground, creating a ghastly path for Alan to follow.  And he did follow it, although he didn’t want to.  He almost couldn’t help himself, and walked as if in a trance, gaze trailing along, finding scraps and pieces of what he could only assume was flesh.  There was something glowing up ahead, so white it seemed to have a light of its own, and it was with horror that Alan realized it was a lone eyeball in the middle of the corridor.

The smell of iron was so strong it hurt his nose, and upon reaching a doorway, soft sounds touched his ears.  He froze, listening so intently he could hear the blood pumping from his heart around his body.  The noises were quiet, whimpers and moans, like whoever was through the door was crying.

Alan’s hand hovered over the doorknob, caught between wanting to run and his persistent desire to help those in pain.  His brain demanded his legs to carry him in the opposite direction, but his heart won in the end and he opened the door.

It was a breakroom, he saw, with tables and counters with stove ranges for making tea.  The light switch clicked uselessly under his finger so the continued inspection of the room would have to happen in near-darkness.  The blood trail was easy to follow, and against one of the walls it ended, becoming a large pool that ran into the divits in the tile, spreading out like broken red fingers.

Sitting in the puddle was a figure huddled against the wall, shoulders shaking under a mop of yellow hair that Alan recognized at once.

“Ronald?” he said in a hushed tone, and the reaper on the floor gasped, his head tilting up in panic.  Alan’s heart skipped a beat at the sight.  One of Ronald’s hands was slapped to his face and the other was pressed against his middle, where it made a futile attempt to keep a tangle of intestines and muscle from falling out of a massive gash through his torso.

Alan took a step closer but didn’t dare get nearer than a few feet.  “Ronald?” he repeated carefully, “Is it…you?”

The younger reaper narrowed his uncovered eye, studying Alan for a moment.  Then a smile broke across his face.  “Oh! You’re the broken one, aren’t you!  Will is looking for you, you know…he needs to repair you.”

Alan shuddered at the idea of Will trying to ‘repair’ him again and shook his head. “Really, I’m not broken,” he said.  This version of one of his friends seemed less aggressive and his gaze went to Ronald’s side.  “But you look awful…”

Ronald looked down and pressed his fingertips harder into himself, his body jerking in pain at the action.  “Grell thought it would be funny.  Haha.  She likes playing games with me.”

His hand fell away from his face and Alan recoiled at the gaping hole where his eye had once been.  Ronald however, seemed less affected than before and straightened his back.

“Fifteen times she hit me, but she knows she can’t keep me down for long!”  The laughter in Ronald’s voice was preceded by a surge of ice cold prickles stabbing their way down Alan’s spine and he retreated backwards as the other reaper began twitching violently.

Ronald’s body was twisting, bending in way it shouldn’t, his arms pushing himself up even as he continued to convulse.  He was growing then, but not just getting bigger…odd lumps appeared on his sides, pulsing like something inside was trying to get past the skin, and suddenly, with an inhuman screech from Ronald, the bumps exploded out, taking the shape of four long grotesque legs.  They reminded Alan of crabs legs, but softer, and dark as night.  Ronald’s normal legs were drawn to his middle, useless now, and his hands and arms had turned into nothing less than giant claws.  All of the monstrous parts were a pitch black and Ronald’s remaining eye was a brilliant green.

Alan fell back, leaning against one of the tables as a soft sigh left his friend’s-the monster’s-lips.  “That’s better!  Guts spilling out and everything was really painful!”  He grinned, and all his teeth were razor sharp.  “Oh, Grell won’t be happy after I get back at her!  She’s going to see that Ronald Knox can’t be pushed around like a little kid!”

Alan took a few steps backward, hoping the thing was too caught up in it’s revenge mission to notice him, but no such luck.  Ronald’s head swiveled to stare at him and he froze again.  “Oh no, you’ve yet to be repaired.”

“I don’t need to be repaired,” Alan said, trying to keep his voice steady.  “It was a minor bug; I’m alright now.”

Ronald frowned, moving a bit closer, his legs landing heavily on the floor.  “Will doesn’t like mistakes…maybe I should take you to him anyway.”

Alan didn’t hesitate after that.  He turned, darting out of the room and down the hall, heading away from the lift.  Behind him he heard Ronald cry out, a gurgling, drawn out screech that put all of the reaper’s hairs on end.  The creature tore out of the room after him, just barely able to fit through the doorway, legs scuttling along, making the floor tremble under Alan’s feet.  He could hear the snap of claws but didn’t look back, didn’t risk pausing to see how close Ronald was.  He just ran, and prayed nothing blocked his path.

The end of the hallway curved, and Alan flew around it, hitting the far wall and bouncing back, continuing to run.  A few seconds later he heard Ronald do the same thing, crashing into the plaster, and he knew it would only be moments until the monster caught up with him.  He needed a place to hide, somewhere small, somewhere narrow enough so Ronald couldn’t fit, but not a dead end.  Somewhere like-.

There were ventilation shafts in many parts of the building, but Alan didn’t think he’d have time to get the grate off the end of one.  He didn’t have much of a choice though, not now.  Gasping for breath, he rounded another corner and pressed his back against the wall.  There was a vent just behind his knees and he prayed this would work.

Sure enough, the Ronald creature turned the corner and kept going, missing him in the shadows.  Alan knew it wouldn’t take more than half a minute before the ploy was discovered, and he knelt at once, trying to pry the grate off the wall.  It seemed to be glued, and the edge of the metal tore mercilessness at his fingers, making them red and sore, but Alan was just as stubborn, and not long after he’d begun, he had one edge unstuck.

At that point he heard a shriek a few corridors away, and his heart leapt into his throat as the tell-tale scuttle of the creature’s legs sounded from down the darkened hall, getting louder.

“Please, please,” he begged no one, jamming his fingers into the gap and pulling as hard as his body would allow. “Please!”  He looked wildly at the empty hall, and as the clatter of Ronald’s legs grew closer, the glue tore off the wall with one final pull and Alan cast the grate aside.  The metal clattered as it hit the floor, but that didn’t matter; it was off just as Ronald came around the corner.

“Stop running, Alan!” the creature screeched, throwing itself forward, claws reaching out to grasp empty air as the reaper pulled his feet into the shaft.  It slammed against the wall, making the wall shudder and one arm entered the small hole, large pincer stretching into the shadows of the narrow metal tunnel.  Alan was far gone by that time though, half crawling, half dragging himself deeper into the inner workings of the dispatch building.

He could hear Ronald struggling to reach him, feeling for him, the vibrations running through the ventilation duct walls.  Once he reached a curve in the tunnel, sweaty hands slipping on the metal, he considered stopping, but he knew any pause now would just result in a meltdown of despair.  To rest, to think of Eric again…that would only weaken him, and he needed every ounce of strength he had.

So he continued on, crawling on hands and knees through the walls of the office building he’d once been familiar with but now felt like a personal hell all his own.  Heavy breath laced with sobs escaped his mouth, tears blurred his vision, and every muscle ached.  He thanked God for the relative safeness of the duct; at least here he knew he wouldn’t be pursued by his former colleagues.

His friends…what had happened to them?  Why did they haunt him so, and why had the darkness, or whatever was in it, compose this horror story tailored solely for his suffering?  What had he done to deserve losing Eric?

He had to stop then, for he couldn’t barely think or breathe anymore for grief.  Sitting with his back against the shaft wall, knees hunched almost to his ears, he sobbed into his blood-stained hands and tried to recall Eric’s face to his mind, but all he could think of was the sight of the lift plummeting away beneath his feet.

_“I love you, Al, don’t forget that.  I’ll always come for you.”_

“No, you won’t,” Alan whimpered into his palms, “Not this time.  This time you can’t.”

He could have remained there for an immeasurable about of time, moaning Eric’s name and smearing blood and tears across his skin, had it not been for the dreaded tickle of needles across his skin once again.  Hurriedly clearing his eyes, Alan looked around frantically, but there was nothing but shadows down the shaft in either direction, and they were normal shadows, not the doom-filled darkness from before.  Everything was quiet, yet still the prickle continued, very faint but most certainly there.  It would be best to keep moving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos, please let me know! I wrote this very fast :3


	4. Chapter 4

The prickle along Alan’s spine intensified the moment he continued on his path, and he wondered if perhaps it would be wiser to go back and see if Ronald had gone.  However, when he crept back the way he’d come and peered around the bend, Ronald’s single glowing eye was waiting at the other end.  A snarl rumbled from the creature’s mouth, saliva dripping from it’s mouth in anticipation as their gazes met, and Alan backed away again, heart racing.

Alan had seen no other ducts leading off this one as of yet and so, though the prickle down his spine only increased with each additional inch he crawled, he had no choice but to move forward, deeper into the walls of the building.  If only he knew what was at the other end, but there was no clue as to what he would find, and nothing was predictable now.

Just as the prickle was becoming an almost painful sensation, a new grate became visible ahead.  Being a quiet as he could, Alan moved toward it, terrified and curious at the same time.  The light shining through the narrow metal slats created yellow lines across his face as he approached, and it was the warmest light he’d seen since this all began.  Squinting through the horizontal openings, he surveyed the room beyond.

It was a lounge, or, it had been at one point; Alan wasn’t sure what he would have called it in it’s current state.  The crimson couches and brick fireplace were pleasant decoration, but weren’t the only red colored embellishment in the room.  Fresh blood must have been pooling on the table near the vent, for it dripped off the edge to the floor below, as if someone had recently upturned a cup of wine.  Alan’s eyes travelled from the floor to the walls, where smears of dried rust revealed that atrocities had taken place at past times, allowing the blood to dry and become a permanent addition to the wallpaper.  It was when his gaze went higher, however, that Alan truly thought he may throw up.  Covering his mouth and begging his stomach to cooperate, he stared into the cold dead eyes of the reaper hanging from the ceiling, a chain around his neck and red silk binding his limp wrists.  From the bottom of his shoes dripped the blood that stained the tabletop.

Alan didn’t know the poor reaper’s face, but his heart went out to anyone who suffered in this hell.  There was no chance the man was still alive and with the tingle up and down his spine growing, he had little hope he would survive much longer either.  Putting a hand to the grate, he began to push, then paused, wondering if he had any option to go back, and in that moment of hesitation he was saved, for only seconds later footsteps sounded on the opposite side of the one of the two doors in the grisly room.  Drawing back into the shadows, Alan waited, holding his breath and praying whoever it was would pass.

No such luck; the footsteps grew closer, becoming a click of heels, and Alan realized he had forgotten someone.  He had met her earlier that night, but that was before everything had gone terribly wrong and he’d come across the others.  But now…now his heart rose into his throat and dread twisted his gut into knots.  Out of anyone in this place, she would be the most terrifying of all…

Grell.

She entered the room in an explosion of red, with crimson makeup to match her hair, a long leather coat to match her makeup, and a smile on her face that made Alan’s blood run cold.  Grell had been named mad by many a reaper, but never had Alan seen her like this.

Waltzing into the longue, looking for all the world like she was entering a party, the red reaper let out a lilting laugh.  “Why hello, darling,” she said and for a horrible second Alan thought she was speaking to him.  Then she lifted the edge of her coat, placing one high heel on a chair to lever herself up to the tabletop.  Leaning upward, she kissed the hanging corpse on the cheek, her lipstick mixing with the drying blood, and she sighed.

“Our time together had to end, love…. But it was fun while it lasted!”

Pulling the ribbon from the body’s wrists, she hummed a tune as she stepped back down to the floor, tying up her long hair with the bloodied cloth.  Moving across the room, Alan’s heart lifted when she headed for the second door.  Perhaps he’d have a chance to slip out the way she had originally come…

That hope was crushed at once when she left the door propped open and Alan could hear her upbeat melody and sounds of moving something heavy out of his sight.  Testing the give of the grate, Alan found it was looser than the other one but still, any noise he mad would surely be heard by the red reaper; it would be best for him to be patient and wait for her to completely leave.

 _‘But what if she discovers me,’_ his brain asked him.

 _‘She won’t,’_ he replied to himself.  _‘Not if I stay quiet and out of the light.’_

Moments later he was grateful for his caution.  Opening the door even wider, Grell propped it open with a book on the floor before vanishing again.  Now she had lost the coat and wore a pure white nurse’s uniform, which, on any normal day, Alan would have thought complimented her very well.  The dress’s clean fabric set against the gory mess of the room, however, was unsettling, and Alan felt ill wondering how often it had to be cleaned.

When Grell returned, still humming the pleasant melody, she was pushing a gurney that may have been metal at one time but now was a mottled patchwork of rust.  Even from his low vantage point, Alan could see that, on the cold bare surface of the bed, a body lay limp.

Wheels squeaking, the reaper brought the gurney to a stop beside one of the couches and brushed her white gloved hands together, the image of tidiness. “Alright, sweetness,” she said, her tone chipper and maddening to Alan’s ears, “I’ll get my tools and return in a heartbeat.”  Leaning over to place a kiss on the unknown reaper, she whispered, “So don’t go anywhere now.”

The second she was gone, Alan began working at the glue around the edge of the vent.  There was no way he was going to sit here while she ripped apart a corpse; he’d lose his mind for sure, and he needed every ounce of wit he still had left.

His bottom lip bitten tightly between his teeth, he worked like mad, tearing at the glue, wincing as a metal corner cut the skin of his hand.  A frantic half minute later he had only gotten halfway done and sweat was making it increasingly hard to get a good grip on anything.  Pausing a moment to wipe his hands on his pants, he checked the room for any change.  Grell had still not returned, though he could hear metal on metal noises from the back room, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

The body on the bed had one arm hanging off the side, something Alan hadn’t thought much about before, but now the once-limp appendage was moving.  The fingers on the dangling hand twitched, once, twice, and Alan froze.

Alive…they were alive, whoever they were, and Grell was going to get to work on them any moment now.  Alan felt a great panic well up in his stomach.  He didn’t know if he had time to get himself out, let alone assist someone, especially one who may not have the ability to walk.  But how could he leave anyone to such a fate as being the meat under Grell’s cleaver?

As his mind raced through this internal struggle, his eyes unconsciously explored the arm, the only part of the reaper he could see.  It was a man, that was clear from the shape of the hand, and the skin was covered with drying blood nearly to the elbow, as if the reaper had been forced to put his hand in, or pull it out of, raw flesh.  And just above the elbow joint, almost hidden by the rolled white shirt sleeve, was the tell-tale mark of a tattoo.

Shock hit Alan so hard that darkness flickered at the corner of his vision and unconsciousness threatened to overtake his mind.  His nose inched from the slats in the grate he looked again, but there was no mistaking the tips of green leaves; the very edge of a rose vine tattoo that was too familiar not to recognize.  Placing one hand against the metal vent, fingers curling into the gaps, he breathed the name.

“Eric…?”

But that was impossible.  While it was very conceivable to imagine that Grell could have retrieved Eric’s broken body from the lift crash to have…fun with, there was no way he would still be alive.  No way in hell…

“But this is hell,” Alan whispered, “So…why not?”

Tears, this time brought on by fragmented joy, fell from the small reaper’s eyes as he battled against the glue of the vent.  He had to get to Eric, had to get him, get them both, out of here.  If they could just reach the roof, there would be a way to send a signal into the city, a cry for help that _someone_ would notice.

“Here I co~ome!” Grell’s voice suddenly cut through his desperate thoughts and Alan withdrew his hands from the grate in a flash.

 _‘No, no, no,’_ he moaned, sinking back into the shadows as the red reaper came back to the room, sporting a silver tray in her hands.  The only thing Alan could see on it was a glass of water. _‘Not Eric!  Not Eric!’_

Grell placed the tray on the table, where a final drop of blood fell from the hanging corpse’s shoe to land in the glass.  The red droplet barely made a splash as it hit the water and spiraled down into the clear liquid.  Turning back to the gurney, Grell put one hand on her hip and the other to her chin, thinking.

“You don’t seem at all comfortable, love….  Let’s make this a bit more enjoyable for you!”

Going to one side of the bed on wheels, Grell slid her arms under the motionless reaper and, with a grunt, rolled him over the other edge onto the couch.  Alan’s hands flew to his mouth as he was able to fully see the body draped unceremoniously across the sofa.  Eric’s hands weren’t the only bloodied part of his body…the red stained his trousers, his hair…as if he’d tried to kill an animal with his bare hands, or perhaps fought one off.  His gruesome state only matched the red room; it was Grell in white who was out of place in all the chaos.

However…no matter how unsightly the Eric appeared, even from across the room Alan could see his chest rise and fall in shallow breath and that’s all that mattered.  What could he do though, to save them both?  The idea of fighting Grell…it would be little more than a death wish and Eric was in no shape to help.

“Just a small prick here and there to help the blood really get moving,” Grell was saying as she picked through the assortment of sharp things on the tray.  She laughed.  “Who am I fooling? We’re going all the way tonight!  In fact, I think-.”

And then suddenly she stopped, breaking off her sentence s her eyes narrowed slowly.  Titling her head, tresses of hair pooling on the tabletop, she took in a long deep breath.  “Oh my…there’s new blood here.  I can taste it in the air.”

Alan looked down at his right hand and the cut he had just gotten while attempting to remove the grate.  It was only just beginning to clot, and fresh droplets still oozed from between the jagged edges.  Inhaling quickly with realization, his gaze shot back up to the room, but all he could see was Grell’s face as she bent to peer through the slats.

“Why hello, cutie,” she said, gripping the corner of the grate, “Come to watch?”

Alan fell back, scrambling to get to the relative safety of the ventilation shaft, but Grell already had the grate ripped away and her long pale fingers wrapped around his ankle in an iron grip.  He kicked wildly and the red reaper let out an exclamation of pain but didn’t let go.  Reaching for anything to hold onto, Alan fought as he was dragged into the room, his sweaty hands slipping uselessly on the smooth metal of the duct.  His screams echoing down the shaft were cut off as his back hit squarely on the edge of the vent, knocking the wind from his lungs so he could only gasp for breath as he was yanked into the room to land faceup on the floor.

Trying to breathe and see through the stars in his vision, he could only lie there as Grell peered down at him with curiosity in her gaze.  Poking him with the tip of her shoe, she giggled.

“So…you’re the broken one, are you?  Ronald isn’t going to be pleased I’ve gotten hold of his prey, but I’m always happy to entertain a handsome fellow.”

“Let… Eric… go,” Alan choked out, and Grell crouched down beside him, so close he could see her earrings, and he was appalled to see they were teeth.

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve paid me a visit.” Grell glanced back to where Eric still laying inert on the couch.  “I’m afraid that Eric and I have an appointment.  How sad!  I’ve broken up lovers!  What to be done….” Grell tapped one long red nail to her chin. “I’ve got it!  You two need to go on a date! How does that sound?”

Without waiting for any sort of answer, she grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him upright.  Dazed, Alan latched onto her wrist, unable to do anything but try to breath as she twisted his collar tight around his neck.  “St-stop,” he gasped, but Grell’s brow only furrowed, gaze fixed on his face as her grip tightened.  Lungs begging for air, Alan struggled weakly until blackness overcame him and he passed out cold.

When he came to, his hands were bound to the arms of a chair, an unfortunately familiar situation, but this time it was red silk that kept him from moving and Eric was sitting across from him, tied in a similar fashion.  They were at the table, but the hanging corpse was gone and laid out before them was everything one would need for a tea party.  Pink china cups, a teapot, trays of cookie and biscuits, and patterned napkins that matched the tablecloth were set out with great care and precision.

Ignoring the setup, Alan leaned forward, staring intently at Eric.  The reaper’s head was bowed, matted blond hair falling in front of his face, but still breathing.

“Eric,” Alan hissed, “Eric, wake up!”

“Aw, is he not paying attention to you?” Grell asked, and Alan jumped, realizing she was sitting on the couch at the other end of the room.  Now she wore a pink dress and matching sunhat.  Pink heels clicked across the floor as she rose and walked over to them, stopping beside the table.  “How rude!  A man must always put his full attention on his lover.  Shall we fix that?”

“I don’t mind, I really don’t,” Alan insisted, watching with panic as she lifted Eric’s chin with one lacey gloved hand.  She tapped the unconscious reaper gently on the nose.

“Come now! We can’t keep the young man waiting!”

When Eric failed to respond, Grell’s expression became clouded, her lips curving into a frown.  Letting her victim’s head fall back to his chest, she stepped back, hands on hips.  Alan stared at her, eyes wide, unable to fathom what she was thinking.  When she did move, it was to look at Alan, and he jumped at being under her scrutinization.

“If my Will treated me like this…I’d be so upset,” she said, “Why aren’t you upset?  You should be upset!”

Alan had begun to shake as her voice rose and he said, “I-I’m not upset b-because he must just be tired.  He’s just tired, s-so we should let him take a little rest, right?  That would make everyone happy!  I’m not mad at all, see?”

He was being as genuine as he could be, hoping Grell’s twisted idea of what their ‘date’ should be might be swayed, but reasoning had no place here.  Instead, Grell’s lip curled in a snarl, her red-nailed fingers curled into Eric’s hair, yanking his head back so his neck and chest were exposed to her fury.  Her other hand snatched a knife from the table, and Alan started twisting and writhing in his chair, trying to get free of the bindings.

“Grell!” he screamed, unable to free himself no matter how hard he struggled.  “Grell, stop it!  Whatever you’re going to do, don’t!  _DON’T!_ ”

His words turned to a string of incoherent shrieks as Grell plunged the knife into Eric’s chest, the entirety of the blade swallowed by flesh and bone.  Eric’s jerked against the silk ropes, his eyes flying wide, mouth open in a scream that made no sound, and Grell leapt back, releasing the weapon.

Eric slowly looked down at the hilt protruding from his ribcage, then lifted his eyes so they met Alan’s equally terrified gaze.  Parting his lips, the reaper tried to speak, coughed once, and a trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. “Alan?” he gasped, then his eyes rolled back into his head as his entire body slumped back into the chair.

“No, no, no,” Alan pleaded, leaning forward as far as he could, pushing his torso uselessly against the tabletop as tears spilled down his cheeks.  “Eric, please, wake up.  Eric, no, no, please, Eric….”

Looking dismissively at Eric, Grell wiped her hand on her skirt, leaving a smear of red on the pink cloth.  “Some men are worthless,” she muttered, and turned to face Alan, who was crying so hard he’d started coughing uncontrollably.  She took a step toward him, and Alan was sure he wouldn’t have been able to stop whatever she was about to do, but he didn’t even have to try.

At that very moment a shriek echoed down the hall, and Grell started, head whipping around to look at the door.

“Gre~ll!” Ronald’s voice, distant but growing closer, sounded clearly through the corridors.  “Grell you took him, I know you did!  You have the broken one!”

“Dammed nasty freak!” Grell hissed, eyes burning red.  Turning on her heel, she vanished into the back room, returning in a moment, chainsaw in hand.  Revving the engine so the sharp, bloodstained teeth started whirring, she took hold of the door handle.  Looking over her shoulder at Alan, she said, “Wait right there, love.  I won’t be gone more than fifteen minutes!  I need to teach this little brat a lesson.”

And then she was gone out the door, the hum of the chainsaw getting quieter as she moved away toward Ronald.  The moment she was out the door, Alan went into action.  Tears still obscured his vision, but he wasn’t a fool; it was now or never if he was to escape.  Trying to ignore Eric sitting motionless across the table, he jerked his body forward, scraping the chair a few inches across the floor.  Bowing his head, he took hold of the knife that lay beside his plate in his teeth.  It was at that moment he realized the patterns on the tablecloth were blotted and smudged bloodstains, and he tried not to gag as he maneuvered the knife so it was secure in his mouth.  Lowering his head as far as he could, he began dragging the serrated blade back and forth across the silk tying down his right arm.

It was an awful procedure; he gave little heed to cutting himself, as long as the silk was tearing, and the back of his hand suffered more than a few cuts, oozing blood that seeped into the cloth and stained the knife.

 _‘Too long, this is taking too long,’_ he thought, his jaw aching and neck cramping up as he dragged the blade back and forth, again and again.  _‘Why is this silk so strong?’_

A loud crash caused him to jump, catching his thumb with the tip of the knife, and he froze, listening to the din of screams and bangs coming from down the hall.  At least both creatures were still occupied….

After what seemed like ages, the threads of silk reluctantly parted, giving way just enough so he could wrench his arm up, breaking free.  Grasping the knife properly in his hand, he easily cut through the other binding, whispering, “Almost there, almost got it.  I’m nearly out, Eric, I’m coming, just hold on.”

Ripping the final strands of silk away, he pushed the chair back and rounded the table.  Eric hadn’t moved at all, and Alan placed his fingers to the reaper’s neck, feeling for a pulse.  “Come on, love,” he said, “We have to go.”

There was a faint beat under the skin and Alan watched as Eric’s eyelids fluttered and the reaper turned his head slightly.  Eyes glazed with pain, the tall reaper blinked at Alan’s, who had a small relieved smile creeping over his face.  “Al…?  What are you doing? You’ve got to go….”

Alan shook his head, using the knife to cut the bindings that bound Eric to the chair.  Taking hold of the reaper’s hand, he squeezed it tightly.  “Not without you.  I’ve already left you once; I can’t do it again.”  His other hand hovered over the knife, a whimper of emotion escaping his lips as he looked at the object in Eric’s body.  “Oh god, I can’t leave you like this!”

“Hey,” Eric said, then his eyes shut, face contorting into a grimace of pain for a moment before he looked back up at Alan.  “I don’t know what allowed me to see you one more time….  I’m grateful, but you need to get out of here before it’s too late for you too.”

“Don’t you dare,” Alan said, as the sounds in the hall grew closer, too loud to be just one of their enemies returning to the room.  “You’re coming with me, so get up, Eric!  I won’t let you die again!”

Eric lifted his head, but before he could argue, the door flew open to reveal Grell and Ronald.  Both looked roughed up, and Ronald had returned to his reaper form.  Grell crossed her arms, surveying the scene.

“Oh, you naughty little boy,” she said.  “Can’t be gone even fifteen minutes before you’re causing trouble.  And I thought we were having fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos, please let me know! I wrote this very fast :3


	5. Chapter 5

“He’s broken, Grell,” Ronald said, glaring at Alan with his single eye.  “We need to take him to Will.”

Grell sighed. “I suppose we must…maybe Will could let me sample just a bit of his blood?  It smelled so lovely.”

Alan’s heartbeat, already fast, accelerated as he tried to figure a way out of this.  “Look, I’m not broken.  I-.”

Eric’s fingers tightened around his hand, stopping his pleas.  Looking around, he saw that the reaper’s face, though deathly pale, was set with purpose, and Alan was suddenly filled with despair.  Glare trained on Grell, Eric reached up, grasping the knife handle.  The red reaper’s gaze narrowed, her own grip on the chainsaw tensing, and Alan gasped as Eric drew the blade out of his skin, the movement achingly slow as the sharp metal left the flesh.  With a sickening squelch, the blade came all the way out and Eric grip on Alan’s hand released as he levered himself to his feet.

They all jumped when the reaper slammed the tip of the knife into the table, leaning heavily on it for a moment.  A cough shook Eric’s entire form and he bowed his shoulders, blood dripping to the tablecloth, and Alan touched his arm, too afraid to make a sound.  Grell and Ronald had remained quiet all this time, watching, waiting and as Eric lifted his head, eyes blazing, the first flicker of fear showed in their faces.

Straightening, Eric yanked the knife out of the tabletop and Alan slapped a hand to his mouth to prevent himself from gasping loudly again.  With every moment Eric made, blood poured from the gash in his chest, the crimson liquid falling freely to his shirt, coat, trousers and the floor.  Alan hadn’t realized a person could have so much blood, and watching Eric’s heart pump it uselessly to the carpet made him want to scream.

“Go while you can,” the tall reaper said in a low voice.  “You’re not fixing Alan today.”

Grell let out a shrill laugh, and Ronald cackled quietly behind her.  “Planning on battling us?” the red creature asked, amused.  “The two of you can barely stand, let alone fight!”

Eric smirked, a thing that stunned them all, and then the reaper looked at Alan with an expression of love that was stained in anger.  “Only one of us is fighting,” he said, and before the words could properly absorb into Alan’s brain, Eric had taken hold of his collar and lifted him, half pushing, half carrying him across the room to the other door.

“Oh no you don’t!” Grell yelled, revving her chainsaw.

“Wait, wait!” Alan cried as Eric kicked open the door and shoved him through.  He grabbed the reaper’s sleeve, trying to hold on, but with strength contradictory to his state of health, Eric wrenched his arm free.  Caught off balance, Alan fell back to the floor with a grunt.

“Stay alive for me,” Eric said, locking eyes with him once before pulling the door shut between them.  As the barrier closed, Alan saw Grell raise her chainsaw as she advanced, and he leapt to his feet, body slamming against the wood.  Grasping the knob, he yanked on it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Eric!” he shrieked, banging his fists on the door, then quieted, hands and cheek pressed to the wood as he listened to the cacophony of shouts and screams that erupted from the other side.  The commotion ended far too soon, the last sound that died being Grell’s chainsaw, which grumbled from a roar, to a purr, to silence.

Drawing in a small breath, Alan rolled along the door to the wall and covered his head with his arms.  He did this not a moment too soon, as half a second later Grell and Ronald came bursting into the room, sending the door crashing back into their hidden prey, who stifled a grunt of pain.  The two creatures rushed past, heading out another exit and vanishing through it into a corridor.  Their yells of “find him!”, “this is your fault!”, and “Will’s going to _so_ mad!” echoed back to Alan until they faded and were gone.

Remaining behind the door for a few moments longer, arms still lifted in a defensive position, Alan finally relaxed, at least enough to peek out from his hiding place.  Everything was quiet now, eerily silent, and Alan’s breath was the only life in the room, or the one adjacent.

The reaper knew what he would find when he reentered the other room.  Grell and Ronald’s swift exit was clue enough for that.  With small steps, he walked through the doorway, the scent of blood warm and so tangible he could taste it in the air.  It was such a strong, he was surprised he couldn’t feel it like a mist on his skin.  Heart oddly steady, he moved farther into the room.

His breaths were calm as he gazed down at Eric’s body, ripped nearly in half by what could only have been Grell’s chainsaw.  The stab wound seemed a trivial injury now, and yet Alan couldn’t find tears to cry over the scene at his feet.  It was unreal…seeing him dead a second time, and though Ala wondered why he didn’t break down sobbing, the urge stayed twisted down somewhere in his stomach and refused to budge.

“I’ve seen his body now,” the reaper murmured, watching Eric’s eyes in case they’d blink, but they remained blank and glassy, staring at nothing.  “I suppose…he’s really gone this time.”  Left hand travelling to his right, he pressed his palm to the gashes.  Grell would no doubt come out of her fury soon and start smelling for his blood.  He had to cover the scent, but how….?

Getting onto the floor, he placed his hands flat on the ground, letting Eric’s pooling blood soak into his skin, his shirtsleeves, the knees of his trousers....  “You’re tainted by this place,” Alan whispered guiltily, “She won’t be able to find me as easily this way.  You asked me to stay alive and this is how I’m surviving.” Crawling forward a few inches, he slid his fingers into Eric’s pocket, taking out the box of matches that permanently resided there, and placed a gentle kiss on the reaper’s cooling cheek.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “I love you, darling.”

Rising to his feet, he cast a glance back at the door the two creatures had gone out of, then turned on his heel and left the room through the other exit without a last look at Eric’s body.

It was only after he’d gone down several hallways that he realized he had no plan.  Still oddly calm and wondering when he would crack, he paused in an alcove beside a drinking fountain to sort himself.  Eric was dead, again, Grell and Ronald were on his trail, Will was at an unknown location and the creeping blackness still haunted his every step.

 _‘Nothing has changed,’_ he thought, watching as his hands began to shake.  _‘I’m still alone and trapped.’_

Curling his hands into fists, he gritted his teeth and kicked the wall, immediately cringing at the sound.  “Stop it,” he hissed into the quiet of the moonlit corridor, “No more crying; let’s go to the roof.”

Both the lifts and stairwells seemed determined to prevent him from reaching his goal, but Alan knew of one more way to reach the top of the Dispatch.  Looking both ways down the hall and seeing nothing ominous, he crossed to the windows on the other side.  Gripping the board, he lifted and was relieved to find the glass moved.  Perhaps whatever trapped him here didn’t think that he’d be able to find a way out through an exit so high above the ground.  However, Alan knew that, directly beside this particular window was a ladder.  It didn’t reach to the ground, probably part of an old fire escape that had rusted away, but it stretched upward to the roof and that would have to do for now. Whether it was sturdy or not…that was something Alan had never tested.

Stretching the upper half of his body through the opening, he saw the ladder only a foot away and grabbed the nearest rung.  It felt stable enough in his grip and he pulled himself further out the window to sit on the sill.  Glancing downward, he discovered the ground was hidden in mist, as was the entirety of the city.  All he could see was an ocean of white fog and the moon, half hidden now by wispy clouds that were filling the sky.

His second hand took hold of the same rung and, with a deep breath in, he slid off the windowsill, kicking his leg out to catch a lower rung with his foot.  After a brief second of time where he hung in space, held up by nothing but his two hands, his right heel found the ladder.  His other shoe landed solidly and soon he was properly set to begin his climb.  Palms sweaty and carefully not to looking down again, he started moving.

 The climb seemed achingly slow, one rung at a time, testing each metal bar to make sure they would hold his weight.  The mist covered everything now, almost obscuring the moon and making it impossible to see much more than a few feet upwards, down, and to either side.

 _‘I’ll reach the top eventually,’_ he told himself, trying to ignore the quickly growing pain as his muscles began to tire.  The drying blood on his hands mixed with sweat only made the climb harder and he was just considering climbing through another window to rest when the moon suddenly broke through the clouds and he could see again.  Fog still covered the scenery below, but now the way up was mostly clear and there, just through a few trailing clouds, was the edge of the roof.

“Thank god,” Alan gasped, ascending with renewed energy.  He was so close…if he could start a fire, get it big enough, someone would have to see it, even through this fog.   Nearly there, nearly t the top, so close….

His head had barely cleared the edge, eyes just peeking over the small ledge of brick, when the tell-tale prickles surged across his body so harshly he flinched.  There came the rev of an engine and he ducked, the chainsaw spinning right where his head had been.

“Come back here!” Grell screeched, peering down, and Alan stared up at her, trapped.  Flashing her sharp teeth, the red reaper drew her scythe back.  “Don’t move, now…there!”

Alan threw his head and shoulders back, the sawblade whistling past his nose, and ‘climb down!’ his brain screamed at him, but it was too late.  Although Grell had missed sinking her weapon into his skull, the whirring metal teeth had dug into the bricks so hard they crumbled, and Alan let out a shriek as the screws holding the top of the ladder came loose from the stone.

“Oopsie,” Grell said, looking as surprised as he was, and she even reached out her hand, as if to grab him, but the ladder had bent back too far now and Alan couldn’t hold on.  Fingers slipping, he scrambled to keep them wrapped around the metal to no avail.  A scream escaping his lips, he fell backwards and down, the sound following him as he plummeted into the mist.  Stretching out his arm, he felt nothing, then the rough side of the building, the bricks scraping his skin painfully, but there wasn’t anything to grab onto and darkness flickered in the corners of his eyes as the wind snatched at his hair and clothes.

And then he landed heavily, sooner then expected.  Trying to focus beyond the pounding in his head, he realized solid ground had not stopped his fall, but a pair of arms, one at his back, the other under his knees.  Dazedly looking around, he found that someone had leaned out of a window and, with tremendous strength, caught him.

“You’ve broken too many rules, Humphries,” he heard Will’s cold voice say, and then his eyelids fell shut and the moon turned black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos, please let me know! I wrote this very fast :3


	6. Chapter 6

When Alan woke, it was to a crackling fire and nothing binding him to the couch he lay on.  Immediately he sat up, winced at the sharp pain in his skull and cradled his head in his hands for a long moment until it passed.  When he could focus again, he quickly took in the area.  It was a common room, for breaks and casual work, furnished with a few comfortable chairs and tea tables.  Everything was clean and suspiciously normal.

 _‘Will does have the outward appearance of being the most normal,’_ he thought, swinging his legs to the floor.  There was no prickle on his spine, so he relaxed a bit, taking time to check himself over.  The fire was hot and he took advantage of it, rising and standing before the flames to warm himself.  This whole time he’d felt chilled to the bone, and encountering heat was a welcome reprieve.

“You’re acting so calm,” he murmured to himself, staring into the flames and rubbing his arms.  “Perhaps you really are broken…”

_‘Though not in the way Will thinks I am.  I’ve been broken somewhere deeper….”_

A sudden noise made him jump, but it was just a log breaking as the fire ate it away, but the incident caused him to come out of his thoughts.  It wouldn’t do to stay here for long…Will could be back at any moment, though the prickles had remained absent since he’d woken.

There were two doors, one locked, one not, and though that alone was enough to make his start sweating, he didn’t really have a choice, did he?  The open door led into a narrow hallway unlike any he’d seen at the Dispatch before.  The red and gold papered walls and lamps presented a warm coloring of air as he walked to the far end.  The next door that barred his way was also unlocked, but it was the appearance of it that disturbed Alan more; it was made of metal and rusting, and when Alan pushed on it, it creaked horrendously.  Flinching at every groan of the hinges, he opened it just enough to slip through the gap.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room. The yellow light seeping in from the hall was similar to the orange-red of that lit the area he was in now, but far less ominous.  Despite the low ceiling, Alan could feel the largeness of the room he was in, though he couldn’t see very far, and there were…things, hanging from the ceiling by chains.  At first, he didn’t know what he was looking at, but when he moved closer his stomach heaved, though there was nothing to throw up inside it.  He dropped to his knees as his muscles contracted, trying to expel the very feeling of repulsion that had come over him in waves.

Bodies.  A lot of them, hung up with metal hooks and chains and carved like pigs at a butcher shop.  The floor was stained brown and pitted with small circular drainage grates, something Alan noticed as he stared down at one, trying to breathe.  Now that he thought about it, he could smell the stench of raw meat, a scent he’d passed off as being from the blood on his own body.

Spitting out the bile his stomach had forced up through his throat, Alan wiped his mouth and watering eyes with the hem of his shirt and made an attempt to focus.  Getting to his feet, albeit very shakily, he kept his gaze trained on the floor.  He’d seen enough, however… enough to recognize that this work was too clean and precise to be Grell’s doing; he was most certainly in Will’s territory now, thought why he still lived was a mystery.

“Keep moving,” he said to himself.  One step forward, another, and he was surrounded by bodies.  “There’s got to be a way out on the other side.”

He hated to keep his eyes fixed on the ground, hated to lift them, and settled for a halfway point as he started his journey across the room.  He could hear the chains creaking softly and swallowed a second wave of nausea that swelled in him.  It couldn’t be that much father…there had to be a wall to run into and he’d reach it sooner than later….

The screech of hinges sounded through the room, echoing in the quiet and stopping Alan in his tracks.  A flash of yellow light filtered through the hanging corpses briefly before vanishing again and t the same time, the prickles ran like spiders up and down Alan’s spine.  The noise had come from somewhere ahead, so that was one question answered; there was a door.  The second question was far more sinister.  Who now was in the room with him?  There was no click of heels, no snap of claws, just solid, level tapping of shoes, and Alan shrank back, slipping between the corpses as Will, out of sight but certainly there, approached his position.

_‘He can’t possibly know I’m here!  How could he, I haven’t made a sound!’_

His heartbeat was assuredly loud in his own ears, but Will wouldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear it.  Despite that notion, the footfalls were getting closer and closer, and Alan’s own paced picked up, sending him deeper into the formation of bodies.  His shoulder hit one as he started moving faster, and the metallic clang of chains on chains erupted in the silence like a beacon in the dark to Alan’s location.

There was no pretense now, no wondering if Will knew he was here; Alan broke into a sprint, the prickles exploding into burning needles across his skin as he went wove between corpses and tried not to run out of breath.

The first door would be no use; it was just a dead end.  His only hope was to reach the other exit.  It had only taken him a few second of frantic running to get completely disoriented, and whenever he stopped, the sound of Will’s footsteps was headed directly toward him.

 _‘He never- goes- any- faster,’_ the small reaper thought, even his inner monologue struggling to breathe.  Hands on knees, he tried to pull more air into his burning lungs.  _‘This is pointless!’_

Tears streaming from his eyes, he looked around, seeing nothing but horror, and let out a gasping sob.  _‘Oh god…I can’t go on for much longer!’_

“Alan!”

The voice was so impossible, Alan didn’t even acknowledge the tone at first, only jumped and looked wildly about for Will.  There was no one directly in his line of sight, but the yellow glow of light had appeared again, very faintly, strewn across the floor like gold.

“Al!  Hurry up!”

“Impossible, you’re impossible,” he coughed, “I _saw_ you die this time!”  He covered his eyes, heard the footsteps coming from one direction, closer than ever, and the voice from the other, gentle but firm.

“Come on, flower…It’s really me and I’ve got his door open, so hurry up!”

“Eric…”  Alan heaved in a great breath, forcing his body to move, and ran for the light.  He saw Eric, backlit by the yellow glow of hallways lamps, and hurtled through the opening, crashing into the tall reaper as the door slammed shut behind him.  Gripping the coat in front of his face, Alan struggled to calm his breathing.

“They keep doing this,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut to try and dispel the dizziness that came over him.  “Why do they keep doing this?”

“Perhaps because it’s efficient,” came the deathly cold reply, and Alan’s chin jerked up, eyes opening to meet Will’s gaze as he realized who he was really clinging to.

Letting out a small cry, he jerked backwards as though burned, releasing Will’s coat.  The management reaper tugged the wrinkled from the cloth while he observed his prey cowering before him.

“So trusting, so naïve,” Will said, sounding disgusted.  “I’m afraid such a flaw is far too much of an inconvenience to repair….”  He reached out a hand, gripping Alan’s jaw firmly and lifting it so their eyes met.  “I can see just by your gaze that you’re very damaged.”

“Only because of you and this place,” Alan whispered, trembling not only with fear but with anger as well.  “If it wasn’t for all of this, I wouldn’t need fixing at all.”

“How nonsensical.”  Will pulled a watch from an inside pocket and glanced at it.  “It’s overtime for all of us tonight, so I may as well tend to you right now.  Shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes if I am resourceful.…”

Lifting a hand, he snapped his fingers, and between one breath and the next they were abruptly in Will’s office, right where Alan had truly begun to feel afraid so long before.  How long at it been, really?  Hours? Days?  Turning to the window, he saw the night hadn’t faded, and the moon still hung high in the sky without evidence of movement.

“Stuck here forever,” Alan murmured out loud, stiffening as Will’s fingers curled around the back of his neck. Twisting around to face the management reaper, he grasped the arm holding him.  “Let me go!  I don’t want to die!”

“You have no say in your fate,” Will responded, unperturbed by Alan’s weak struggle.  “Destiny is nothing but fixed events we cannot see yet.” 

Alan kicked out with his feet, catching his enemy’s stomach so he flinched, and the first hint of emotion finally appeared on Will’s face.  The reaper’s eyes narrowed and, lifting Alan, slammed him back against the wall.  Gritting his teeth, Alan did his best to pry the fingers from his neck, but it was like trying to bend iron.  Will exhaled softly, adjusting his glasses.

“What a waste,” he said, and his grip tightened.

White dots popped in Alan’s vision and he lashed out again, but there wasn’t even a flicker of change in Will’s solid form this time.  The shadows were creeping in…the needles on his skin digging deeper, red hot and burning, and he could see death in the darkness behind Will…Something moved, something was coming closer and closer….

And Will sensed it too, for his grasp on Alan’ neck loosened a fraction, allowing air to enter his lungs, but by then it was too late.  Alan could feel the tremor that went through Will’s body all the way to his bones.  Blinking spots from his vision, the smaller reaper looked down to see the end of Will’s own scythe inches from his nose. Gaze trailing down the handle, he found the tip had been stabbed directly through the management reaper’s torso with one sure thrust.

Will let out a choked noise akin to surprise, eyes wide, then looked back over his shoulder to where Eric held the very end of the weapon behind him.  A grimace contorted the management reaper’s face and he spoke without an ounce of emotion.

“How disappointing.”

Then his body went slack, crumpling to the floor and releasing Alan, who dropped to the ground.  Somehow landing solidly on his feet, he pressed a hand to the wall, not daring to look up.  He felt movement, heard Eric say, “Al! Are you okay?” and lashed out with one arm, screaming,

“Stay back!”

He felt faint.  It was too risky not to assume this was another trick; he wasn’t sure he could handle it being the real Eric either.  The world was warped, pulsing, and he staggered forward, in danger of falling over completely as his body and mind threatened to fail.

Eric’s strong arms caught him, warm breath tickling skin as he kissed his temple and whispered, “Hey, take it easy now.”

“I don’t believe in you,” Alan whimpered.  Still avoiding eye contact, he stared at Eric’s shirt, white and blood-free.  Doubt and hope clashed like water and oil, blazing a hole through his heart.  He curled his hands into fists, fighting the urge to grab onto the reaper and never let go.  “You died.”

“Twice,” Eric replied delicately, “But I came back before, remember?”

Alan shook his head fiercely.  “I don’t want to be tricked again!”

“Will did that, and he’s gone now.  It’s really me, I _promise_.  Please trust me, Alan, I beg you.”

The desperate tone finally convinced Alan to look up.  Eric’s brows were pulled together above eyes filled with worry, and Alan immediately felt guilty of his words.  Pushing loose hair from his face, he placed a hand on the reaper’s chest, silently asking to be released.  Eric obliged and they stepped apart so there were inches of space between them.  Alan glanced back at Will’s body.  It _looked_ like Will…down to the immaculately ironed tie, but of course it wasn’t, and Eric had not killed a friend, but an enemy.

Still…and Alan hated to think it, but he was doubtful.  Folding his hands together, he pressed his fingers to his lips, thinking.  Eric waited quietly, though without much patience, evident by the way his hands were moving; they slid over each other, fiddled with the shirt cuffs, ran through his hair and across his face, as if he had no control over them.

Finally, Alan spoke, and Eric latched onto his words at once.

“Tell me something,” he said.

“Anything. What do you want to hear?”

“I want you to tell me something only we would know.”

He watched as Eric’s frown deepened in thought.  A thousand instances came to his own mind at once, but he held them back.  This was Eric’s chance to prove himself, not Alan’s.

“Alright,” the tall reaper said at last, “Come here.”

Alan leaned in and Eric bent to his ear, whispering the words softly in his ear.  A small flush spread across Alan’s cheeks upon hearing them, but a small smile accompanied it, matching the one on Eric’s face when he drew back.

“Tell me you don’t remember that,” he prompted, and Alan adjusted his glasses smartly.

“Oh no,” he said, “I do. Vividly.”

“Good.”  Eric held out a hand.  “Let’s get out of here.”

Alan took the offered hand with only the slightest hesitation, but contact with warm skin was comforting, and he gripped tighter while nodding in agreement.  “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos, please let me know! I wrote this very fast :3


	7. Chapter 7

“Look, I know the lift is probably a death trap, but the stairs are worse,” Eric said as they left the office.

“You _died_ in the lift,” Alan said, his step quickened to keep up with Eric’s long strides.  “How can you think it’s a good idea?”

“Because we don't have much of a choice.”

Alan nearly ran into the reaper as he stopped abruptly, a few yards from the lift doors.  Peering around, he looked to where Eric pointed, and his heart skipped a beat.  The stairwell, already shadowed, was becoming darker, turning a pitch black that seemed to move, but only when Alan didn’t look directly at it.  A draught of cold air blew over them, chilling Alan to the bone.

“It’s a death trap,” Eric said, making for the lift, but Alan tugged on his arm, feet planted firmly on the ground.

“It’s all a death trap!  At least the stairs can’t send you falling all the way to the ground floor!”  Alan shook his head, refusing to budge.  “I won’t take the lift and that’s final!”

The moment the words left his mouth, the prickles bristled across his skin as murky substance in the stairwell surged, literally spilling out into the hall like ink.  Without giving him a chance to protest, Eric had scooped his smaller half into his arms and was running for the lift door.

“Wanna take the steps now?” he yelled, kneeing the wall button as the shadows crawled toward them.

“Eric!” Alan yelled a warning and the other reaper stamped on the first tendril of blackness as it reached his shoes.  The rest of the oncoming darkness soon followed but the lift was open by now and Eric back in, kicking at the reaching coils that snatched at them.  The doors closed far too slowly to save them, and Alan was dropped unceremoniously to the ground so Eric’s arms were free.  The reaper took hold of the blackness that slithered and oozed toward them, far more poisonous than any snake.

“Don’t touch it!” Alan cried, but Eric paid no heed, tearing at the shadows that entered the lift, ripping them like paper in his hands.  His expression was so focused, so dark, and a second rush of needles prickled their way up and down Alan’s spine so intensely that he shuddered.

And then the doors were all the way shut and it was noiseless in the small compartment, save for Eric’s heavy breathing as he leaned against the wall, dripping with black liquid that was as lifeless as the ink it resembled.  Alan wanted to scramble to his feet, but he already felt like throwing up sitting on the floor.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, and Eric spit out glob of the fluid, using his sleeve to wipe his mouth.

“Compared to dying? No,” he answered wryly.  “Are you alright?”

Alan gave himself a quick once-over and found nothing out of order.  “I’m fine, but…where are we going?”

The lift was moving now, though they hadn’t touched a single button inside.  Both of their gazes went up to where the floor numbers were counting down and Alan shivered.

“It’s going to fifteen,” he said, and Eric looked shrewdly at him.

“How do you know?”

“It’s done it before, and…”  Alan stared at the numbers as they dropped, one by one.  “…and fifteen has been everywhere in this place.”

“Oh?” Eric said, narrowing his eyes.  “Grell mentioned it a couple times.  You think it’s important?”

“It has to be.” Alan used the hand bar to pull himself to his feet, heart racing.  “It can’t be coincidence! They’ve all mentioned it!”  Gripping the bar to keep himself steady, he racked his mind for the memories he’d made over the course of this hellish experience.  “Will said it when we first met, and just before….  Grell too.”

“And Ronald, when you met him,” Eric pointed out, and Alan nodded.

“Yes!  He did!”  The reaper began pacing back and forth, tiredness forgotten.  “I don’t get it.  Why?  Why fifteen?  It doesn’t make any-.”

He cut himself off then, and glanced over at Eric, who was simply watching him.  “And Ronald….  You weren’t there when Ronald said it to me.”

Eric shrugged. “But you said everyone mentioned it at one point.  I figured he did too.”

Alan’s entire body sagged slightly, a heavy weariness settling to his shoulders.  “Yes, everyone,” he said, “Even you.”

Eric frowned. “I did? When?”

Tears welled in Alan’s eyes, not overflowing and giving his surrounding a warped view.  “You said you’d been gone quarter of an hour before returning to your office and finding everyone missing.”  The needles over his skin…why hadn’t they warned him?  But perhaps they had, and he’d been too blind with trust to notice.  They were creeping up now, gentle and subdued, but undoubtedly there, touching his skin and dancing along his spine like thin fingers.  “It’s been you all along, hasn’t it.  You’re the creator of this nightmare.”

Eric, or whatever he was, crossed his arms, chuckling.  “You’re rather thick…I thought you’d have figured it out long before now.  What did it?  Your husband coming back to life a third time?  Was that just a tad too farfetched?”

“Why,” Alan asked.  “Why do this to me?  Why the number fifteen?  I don’t understand!”  His hands balled into fists as his voice rose.  “Tell me!  Tell me why!”

Eric’s eyes flashed and he leaned in, tapping Alan once on the forehead.  “Why, why, why?  Foolish little reaper; you can’t even remember what you did this morning?”

Alan blinked and suddenly his mind was filled with images so clear it was as if he was living them in that moment.  He, Eric, Will…Grell and Ronald too, all packed into one vehicle…Eric driving, Will had the map…a map that led them to a rundown house on the edge of town and in that house, their quarry.

“A demon,” he breathed, and Eric’s green eyes turned color, becoming as black as ink.  “We went after you when you killed a reaper out on retrieval.”

“Fifteen is what they call me,” the demon said, “Because that’s how many I kill before moving on.  But you know that, and it slipped through just enough to become a reoccurring theme in this little world.”

Alan looked around.  The numbers still counted down, dreadfully slow, the lift still trundled sluggishly downward, but now his clothes were clean, free of blood and spotless like the demon.  “How did you know that secret Eric told me?  That’s impossible.”

The demon rolled its eyes.  “It’s your mind we’re inside! I know everything your little brain deems important.”

“My mind,” Alan clarified in disbelief.  _‘Then…can I kill him in my own head?’_

His captor smacked him smartly on the cheek.  “I can hear your thoughts, you idiot.”

Shielding his face, Alan asked, "What happened to Eric and my friends?  Are they alive?  What did you do to them?”

“Forget them,” the demon snarled.  “I’m interested in you, and we’re just getting started!”

The lift shuddered to a halt, the bell chiming as the floor number read 15.  The door slid back and the demon took hold of Alan’s collar, pulling him out into what the reaper recognized as Eric’s office, but it was connected to nothing but the lift, and there wasn’t a window in sight.

“This place…?”  Alan felt tears spring to his eyes.  “Why this office?”

“You tell me,” the demon scoffed, pushing him into the desk chair, “This is your mind, darling.”

Alan shrunk down into the seat.  His mind was whirling, that was for certain.  A demon…the demon they had been going to kill that very morning!  Somehow the mission had gone wrong and now here he was, trapped by fiendish powers.  He watched as the demon circled around to the opposite side of the desk and perched on the edge of it.  It looked like Eric, was so obviously not, and he became angry.

“If this is inside of _my_ brain,” he said, “How is it that you’re in charge?”

The demon sighed.  “Because you’re _weak_.”  It smirked, reaching out and running its fingers gently over the back of Alan’s hand.  “And it’s so very fun to play with helpless little things.”

Alan slapped the hand away and the demon’s face contorted into a snarl.  Lashing out, it caught Alan’s face, digging its nails into his skin.  “ _Don’t_ test me,” it snarled.  “Your little warning system can only do so much.”

 _‘Warning system,’_ Alan thought, trying not to show the pain he was experiencing.  _‘The needles on my skin were my own creation…a way of letting me know when a situation got dangerous.’_

The demon drew back, frowning at him, and Alan’s heart jumped.  _‘It can’t hear my thoughts now?  Why? What changed?’_

He hadn’t felt the prickling sensation at all since stepping into this room, thought clearly he was in more danger than ever before.  So why weren’t they dancing up and down his spine like usual?

‘Why this office?’ he had asked when they stepped out of the lift.

‘You tell me,’ had been the reply.

 _‘This office…it’s always been a place of safety for me.’_ He bit his lip.  _‘Did I unconsciously box us into a part of my brain where I still hold the power?’_

“What are you thinking?” the demon asked, and Alan could see the beads of sweat gathering on its forehead.  “Why can’t I hear your thoughts?  Tell me!”

Alan looked away, eyes scanning the room, but saw nothing that would be suitable for defense.  This was Eric’s office, not a weaponry, or even a kitchen with knives.

“Listen,” the demon said, planting both hands on the desk, “If you don’t speak, I’ll have to end this world…and that means ending you along with it!”

Alan’s head was spinning like a top.  There had to be a reason his mind had chosen this room beyond the feeling of security.  There had to be a plan even he was unaware of.

“Speak!” the demon cried, spit flying from its mouth, black eyes taking on a red glow.  “Speak or die now, grim reaper!”

_‘Grim reaper…Eric’s office…That’s it!’_

The demon’s fingers dug into the desk, the wood splintering as it picked the piece of furniture up and threw it, so it smashed into the lift doors with a tremendous cracking sound.  The creature leapt forward and Alan kicked out, hitting it squarely in the chest and propelling the chair he was on backwards. With a grunt, he hit the wall, and looked up.  There, directly above his head was the familiar silver saw; Eric’s death scythe hung in it’s usual spot, and Alan reached up, grasping the handle with both hands.

“No!” the demon yelled, but the reaper didn’t hesitate.  Jumping off the chair, he brought the saw around in one wild motion, tearing the blade right through the demon’s middle.  With a screech that made Alan’s ears ring, the creature with Eric’s form dropped back, landing heavily on the carpet in a mess of blood.  Alan stood, chest heaving, arms hanging so the scythe rested on the floor.  The demon’s scream died abruptly, and the reaper lifted his head to take in the sight before him.

It was Eric, not unlike when he had been opened by Grell’s chainsaw, but the eyes were still deathly black.  Alan straightened and tossed the saw to the side, taking deep breaths.  Walking to stand at the demon’s feet, he observed it for a long moment.  It simply stared up at him, similarly fighting for air, fingers curved above the wound without touching it.  Blood, red and thick, oozed into the fibers of the rug underneath it’s body and Alan’s shoes.

“I must admit,” it gasped, “I didn’t see that coming.”

The reaper, too tired to feel triumphant, frowned.  “Demon…if you’re really dying, why is your blood red?”

The demon’s face, pale and shocked, melted into a twisted grin.  “Oh ho…I was wondering when-.”  It coughed suddenly, and more crimson blood spurted from behind it’s teeth.  When it looked up, the black eyes sparkled, though Alan didn’t know why it should feel confident now.  “I was wondering…when…you’d notice,” it said between labored breathing.  “Funny…how you thought…I’d just take…Eric’s image…and not Eric himself….”  It blinked once and the eyes lost their blackness, returning to soft lime green.  “No coming back to life this time, flower….”

Alan staggered a step, then two, falling to his knees as the demon, Eric, went limp.  Clutching the body’s shoulders, he shook it wildly.  “No!  Wait, that’s not fair!  This is _my_ mind!  Mine!  You can’t kill Eric in _my_ head!”  He bowed his head, shaking with sobs.  “It’s another illusion!  Bring him back, bring him _back_!”

“Al…”

Alan lifted his head with an inhale of breath that hurt his throat.  “Eric!”

“It’s gone,” the reaper said, then fell into a fit of coughing.  “And I will be too, pretty soon I think.”

“No, no, no,” Alan whispered, petting Eric’s face, brushing away his hair, caressing his cheek.  “It’s really you this time, and I’m keeping you, okay?”

“Love…”  Eric’s body convulsed and he drew in a rattling breath, releasing it in a cough that speckled Alan’s skin with red.  “It’s about time it was real, and that’s enough.”  He smiled, and tears spilled over his lashes.  “One more kiss, flower?”

“Okay,” Alan said in a trembling voice, and pressed his lips to Eric’s, putting as much passion as he could into the action.  He felt Eric’s hand run up his shoulder, to his neck, into his hair, and weave into the soft brown locks.

“Alas,” he felt Eric murmur into his lips, “You’re too dangerous…but at the very least you’ll taste delicious.”

Alan gasped, trying to pull back, but couldn’t move as the grip on his hair tightened.  His wide-eyed gaze stared into green eyes that vanished into black again, and the blood he kneeled in was now the same dark hue.

“Y-nngh!”

His words turned to a groan as a burning heat suddenly appeared in his chest.  The prickles stabbed all along his spine and the demon grinned against his open mouth as the hot feeling started moving its way up his throat.

“You’re so cute,” the monster said softly as Alan gagged and choked on whatever was forcing its way out of his body.  “I’ll bet your soul tastes like flowers.”

Alan’s fingers clawed into the carpet, eyes rolling back as the ball of heat reached his mouth.  The demon’s long tongue slid past his teeth and the whole world shook when the slimy appendage touched the quivering soul.

 _‘S-stop,’_ Alan thought, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t undo this.  He reached for anything, everything...from the needles piercing every inch of his body to his friends who may still be in trouble….  He thought of Eric, the real Eric.

_‘I don’t want to die….’_

“It’s been fun, Alan,” the demon hissed, licking its lips, then the tongue darted back into Alan’s mouth and everything crumbled.

❀⚘❀⚘❀

“Alan?  Alan!   _ALAN_!”

Eric dropped his scythe, sprinting the last few feet and skidding to a halt on his knees beside the immobile form of his husband lying on the dirt floor of the crumbling building.  Turning the reaper so he was on his back, Eric bent down, listening for a heartbeat.

Ronald ran into the room second, Grell close behind, and Will was on their heels.  The three remained in the doorway, stopped by the scene.

“Is he…?” Ronald couldn’t help but ask, and Will’s hand rested on the young reaper’s shoulder.

“Hush now.”

“Please….” Eric rested his head on Alan’s still chest, waiting for the sound that would tell him his husband was alive.  His face screwed tighter and tighter as he listened, hearing nothing but the sound of his own breath.

“Come on, come on,” he whispered, “I believe in you.”

“Eric…” Will said in a low tone.  “His soul may be gone.”

“No,” Eric said, not moving, his warm hand finding Alan’s cold one.  “It’s not, I know it’s not.  I would know….”

“He might be right,” Grell suddenly said, pointing across the room, and everyone besides Eric looked to where a mass of black lay oozing across the floor.

“He got it!” Ronald cheered quietly, “He killed Fifteen!”

Will was across the room in a moment, spearing his scythe into what remained of their foe.  Eyes flashing with countless emotions, he looked to where Eric still kneeled be Alan’s side.  “His soul is not here, Slingby.  Find it.”

Eric’s eyes drifted shut and he reached out his arm.  Ronald scrambled to picked up the saw and place it in the waiting hand.  Fingers wrapping tightly around the handle, Eric sat up, eyes still closed.  Lifting the scythe, the end hovered over Alan’s chest for a long moment before the reaper gritted his teeth and brought the blade down.

A breath escaped Grell, but the sound was forgotten in the sudden eruption of twisting blue records that spilled upwards from where the scythe had entered Alan’s body.  Eric’s eyes opened, intense and focused, and took the record of life in his hands, as tenderly as if he held the most delicate of blossoms.

“Come now,” he murmured, “It’s not time to go yet.  Let’s put you back properly, alright?”

Gently, he pulled the scythe out, setting it aside, and carefully guided the twisting ends of the record back into Alan’s chest.  Spreading his palms flat, the last of the blue light vanished under his hands and when he raised them again, there wasn’t even a hole in Alan’s shirt.

Drawing the small reaper into his arms, Eric buried his face into Alan’s neck.  “Please come back to me,” he breathed.  “You’ve done so well.”

Alan’s stirred his arm first, then turned his head, forehead resting on Eric’s cheek.  “Hmm?” he muttered, “Eric…?”

“Welcome back,” the reaper said, not fighting the tears.  “You’re safe.”

“What happened?”  Alan twisted in the arms that held him, confusion his face.  “I walked into this room and then….” He looked up. “Where’s the demon?”

“You got it.” Eric nodded across the room.  Then his lips met Alan’s for a long moment, the smaller reaper leaning tiredly into the kiss.  “Iron,” he said when they drew apart. “Did you bite your lip?”

Alan ran his tongue around his mouth and shook his head. “No…but I remember blood, lots of it.  I’m not hurt, am I?”

“Nothing but a scrape or two,” Eric promised. “That can be fixed with some hot tea and a warm blanket.”

Alan smiled wearily.  “That sound amazing…I’m suddenly exhausted.”

“Then come on, flower,” Eric said, getting to his feet with Alan still snug against his chest.  “Let’s get you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see any typos, please let me know! I wrote this very fast :3


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